POEM: Badger-State Blues

I have this sense that what we took for granted for so long -- the way we lived, and moved, and had our being -- will be changed for all time

It may sound crazy, but there are times,

on certain nights when, on a hillside,

I sit back on my haunches and close

 

my eyes and hush myself into what

you might call a listening silence, not

unlike what some birds do with their feet,

 

waiting for a worm to turn down under,

and what I sense on such nights when

I no longer hear the evening news or

 

Lady Maddow and the earth lies silent

as the grave even as it spins in space,

I sense, as certain animals are said

 

to sense an earthquake well before it

happens and move inland or seek

higher ground, I have this sense that

 

what we took for granted for so long —

the way we lived, and moved, and had

our being — will be changed for all time

 

when the black-robed justices avert

their eyes in mockery of blindfolded

Justice and allow the coup to happen